


Growing Older in Hell

by orphan_account



Series: Hazbin Hotel OS [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26717839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Al's shadow can be mean, sometimes.Good thing Husk is taking none of it.
Relationships: Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: Hazbin Hotel OS [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944442
Comments: 2
Kudos: 145





	Growing Older in Hell

**Author's Note:**

> As always, English is not my mother tongue, so... I apologize if there are mistakes.  
> Hope you like it!

Time was a complex theme in hell.

Demons could not grow older – they didn’t age. The lived untouched by the curse of time and, simply, existed to repay the debts collected during their life as boring, needy humans. They stilled, like objects trapped in an hourglass that nobody bothered to flip upside down after the sand had fallen completely on their heads.

It was hard to tell how many years have passed and, unless you were always checking for the time, lifting your eyes in the middle of the plaza to look at the timer, you wouldn’t even notice if a new day was starting or not.

Night and day didn’t differ too much, unless you looked closely enough to notice that the reddish sky was less dull during the day and a bit more off at night. You could, indeed, ask for the hour at demons who had a watch or an old-style pocket-watch. Don’t bother, though – not many as you could think were interested – unless they had a job who required it, that is.

That is, most of the time, demon preferred to live in the bliss called ignorance – a deadly one, though, when you were not even interested in knowing when the cleansing was approaching.

In fact, Time, in Hell, was useless – everything you needed to know, as if the timer announcing a new cleansing was at 1 or not. Everything else was hopeless.

Though, there were certain demons who can still feel, partially, their body changing day after day. It was not aging, and it wasn’t related to their animalistic traits either.

Kinds like Angel Dust and Husk or Pentious had seasonal needs (mating, shed off the old skin), but demons like Alastor, Vaggie, and whoever had yet to lose their human pride, well, followed the natural rules. Their hair grew longer; their skin could collect scars, pimples. That is, aside from their endless life, they were only half animal – their mortal body would follow them everywhere, and yet, preserving their youth and vigor.

Charlie had once explained that the body you reborn with was related with the decision you’d made in your precious and glorious days: Angel had lost almost everything of his human body due to his inability to take care of it; Husk had poisoned his human body to the point of not having any right to have one; but Alastor?

Alastor used to despise his own: he thought it was too fragile due to his health; too thin – and so, Hell had gifted him with something equally broken. Not only that, but he was in the body of a prey. His body was scarred from neck to toe; his bones were a weird mix of human and deer’s; a weird showcase of singularities and odd things.

Speaking of, why wasn’t Alastor back yet?

“I’m tired,” Husker growled, looking around to see if there was any trace of Alastor. The cat didn’t know how much time had passed since the Radio Demon had left the hotel to meet with one of his acquittances.

Was it a week?

Was it a month?

He didn’t know – he could have asked the time to Angel, but he didn’t want to give him any explanation as why he was missing Alastor that much. Wait – missing Alastor? Him? The cat blinked a few times before turning up his nose – had he always been that needy or was it his cat instinct speaking for him?

Only in that moment of consciousness, Husk realized where his feet had taken him: he was in front of the deer’s room, the only bright red door, with a black frame and no keyhole.

He sighed, feeling something similar to a purr scratching his throat: since he was already there, he could check if the asshole was back or not, at least. The only problem was: how could he open a door without a key?

A day not so long ago (or had it happened just the other day?), Alastor had told him how to get in if he needed to, but at that moment, Husk couldn’t quite recall it. Was it a certain rhythm to respect while knocking?

Husk shook his head: nah, what was he, 15? It had to be something more complex than that – something that only demons very close to the Overlord could know.

Something --- something cherished by the deer himself.

Oh! Wait! He might have an idea of what that crap was about.

How was that song?

“ _They stand out a mile_ ,” gosh, if that damn deer was there, he would have laughed at him if he could hear him. Husk was no singer, at all, and even during his living days, his voice was something he _grew_ used to despise. Ruined by alcohol and smoke, he sounded more like a cat howling in pain…

“ _But, brother,_ ” and to think that Alastor had offered him to teach him how to sing, in the vain attempt for his voice to reach his beloved wife in Heaven… What a waste of time had it been.

“ _You’re never fully dressed_ ,” and yet, all their attempts had been vane. He could not know if his wife had actually heard him, back then, and it was so frustrating, still.

“ _You’re never fully dressed_ ,” thinking about it now, how many years had passed since that day? He couldn’t say – but he could remember a strange occurrence. He did remember Alastor’s hair being shorter than now.

“ _Without a smile_ ,” as the door unlocked without a sound, he recalled multiple occasions in which the hairstyle of the deer had changed, even if so slightly.

When the door finally unlocked, Husk smiled – of course, how self-centered the Overlord was, it had to be that song. (Though, Husk was sure it was not a song of their times…)

Huffing, he slid inside, making sure to lock the entrance behind him as the shadows lurking in there surrounded him. Those things were everywhere, staring down on him with their glowing eyes. They seemed curious – they seemed interested and, a few, seemed even envious.

 _Why does the stupid cat know about it?!_ Someone seemed to whisper behind his back.

“Not my fault if you’re not worth of any trust,” the cat hissed, trying to smell Alastor’s scent. It wasn’t too strong, but he could catch a remain of incense (oh, that fucking lavender incense!) and the deer’s typical stench. It wasn’t too much, but the blood and his sweat had yet to fade away.

Ugh – the asshole needed a bath as soon as possible.

 _As if you’re any better than us_ , a shadow roared, _we know what you did!_ Someone pledged, _you covered your wife in debts and abandoned her to a miserable death!_

“Monsters think alike,” Husk replied, as his eyes got more comfortable in the darkness. He tried to catch a glimpse of how the furniture was disposed. He was sure there was a couch, somewhere.

 _Oh, but you’re here for redemption, aren’t you?_ Someone else implied, _you’re here to find a way back to your wife! The poor thing!_

Was he, really? He liked to believe he was past that phase – there was no space for him in Heaven.

_Don’t pretend like you care of Master._

Oh my god, what were they? A bunch of jealous teens? Jesus Christ, how was Al supposed to handle all of them at once? It seemed like Hell --- oh, wait – they were in Hell already!

“Shut the fuck up, morons,” when he found the couch, he made himself comfortable on the leather, purring and swinging his tails as he noticed that Al’s smell was even more persistent there.

So, let’s go back to the whole ‘Al’s hair’ situation.

When they had first met, Al’s hair was way shorter than that: at that time, the only fluffy thing on his head was his ears; yes, at that time, Al’s face was not hidden by his bangs – there was no red framing his cheeks.

Now, instead, at a first look, Husk was only able to see his mouth, his nose, and his eyes, (not so clearly, though).

Humming, Husk realized that the deer had changed his hairdo more than a few times in between: once, Alastor had short hair; once again, it was long enough for him to slick all of it back and enclose it in a little tail; then, his hair was short again.

Yawning, he considered that, perhaps, he was paying too much attention to something like this…

Yet, he felt it reassuring. He was able to see Alastor changing day, after day – in a way, it was as if he was observing him aging.

It was kind of a – romantic concept.

**

The first thing Husk was aware of, it was that someone was burning that fucking incense in the room, again. Wrinkling his nose, he cursed and tried to turn over on the couch to get more comfortable and hide his nose against the cushions.

Doing so, someone chuckled above him, started petting his head, gently – ugh – stupid shadows...

Wait a second – why was Al’s smell so strong now? It was so pungent to the point of making his nose itch.

And why that pillow seemed so bony?

Without opening his eyes, Husk tried to move his hands and the higher he went, the more his touch revealed him to have his head on someone’s lap – and it was not a shadow. His face was buried against a shirt; under it, he felt a tiny waist, a skinny chest and, allowing his hands to travel freely on hit, he sensed the presence of tiny scars and old wounds.

A static came from above, “my dear, I do believe I didn’t allow you to touch me like this.”

Shamelessly, Husk snuggled against Alastor, lowering his hands to loop his arms around the other, “as if you ever give me permission to do anything,” he retorted, opening his eyes and looking up to meet Alastor’s face.

The cat smiled, “glad to know I was right,” he said, as he took consciousness of the actual length of the deer’s hair. Red like blood and long to the point of reaching his chest.

“Excuse me?”

To start a sappy conversation or to let it die there? Was Alastor even able to have a heartfelt conversation? Eh – Husk doubted it, a lot.

“You need a bath – you stink.”

At first, the deer frowned, making his own smile twitch as he registered those words, “it’s a very rude thing to say, my dear.”

“So what? Are you going to kick me out?” Hopefully, Alastor would never do such a thing but the fear of getting thrown away, like a useless card he didn’t need anymore, was always there.

(What if the shadows were right?)

Smiling, the deer massaged his chin, as if pondering how to answer to that question, “I believe I can make an exception, just for today.”

“Then, go and wash yourself – I ain't going to drink with you in this state.”

“I said I’d make an exception, didn’t I?” Alastor grinned and, turning into a shadows, he disappeared behind the door of his personal bathroom. As Husk heard the water starts flowing in the bathtub, a few shadows kept whispering from afar.

The great Alastor making exceptions? For who – for a weak soul like him?

Perhaps, they did have a point for being so jealous…

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @cam3ulia


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